I can be like a hoarder—indiscriminate about what I’m adding to my already full life. Sometimes, I invite hurt and sorrow to take up permanent residence in my heart because I’m unwilling to let them go.
Sometimes, the pain hanging in the air is so heavy that it seems I should be able to grab hold of it and hurl it far away, but when I lunge for it, it simply moves—challenging me, taunting me.
I cannot simply throw it away because
I have to own it
and speak to it
and move through it
and heal it.
In those moments I realize that I have been imprisoning myself.
So, I greet the pain.
I sit next to it.
Then, I embrace it and weep with it so
I can let it go.